


Many Happy Returns

by LogicalBookThief



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Birthday Fluff, Five Year Mission, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Jim is no better, M/M, Pining!Spock, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Space Husbands, Star Trek Beyond Spoilers, in fact he pines right back, insecure!Spock, poor Vulcan has it bad, spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7843927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicalBookThief/pseuds/LogicalBookThief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because Jim doesn't celebrate his birthday doesn't stop Spock from commemorating the occasion every year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Many Happy Returns

**Author's Note:**

> Another post-Beyond fic that started out small and quickly evolved into a lot of feelings (what can I say, it was BEYOND my control hehe...never mind, I'll stop)
> 
> Vaguely inspired by this tumblr post talking about Spock discovering Jim's birthday and me wondering what he might do with that information: http://spatscolombo.tumblr.com/post/149003652540/newlyorange-spatscolombo-wait-so-theyve
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

Birthdays had always been a source of consternation and confusion to Spock. The feelings surrounding his were conflicting to say the least.

Vulcans viewed the recurring date of one's birth as the natural passage of time and nothing more. To recognize it with any _human_ sentiment would only prove his peers correct in their claims that he was too _other,_ too unlike them to belong.

Furthermore, Spock failed to see the logic in celebrating the delivery of a life-form whose mere existence inspired scorn, contempt and revolt in others. He had been told throughout his childhood, both directly and indirectly, that his conception was at best a biological aberration and at worst a blight on society.

It stood to reason that something so controversial should be approached with delicacy and care. However, you would be hard-pressed to convince Amanda Grayson, who had no qualms facing controversy with the same unrepentant attitude that her son grew to admire and despair in equal turns.

She insisted on upholding this tradition by celebrating his bearing every year, as custom dictated; yet perhaps more puzzling was that Father, who had consistently pushed for his son to receive a traditional Vulcan upbringing, did not object to this particular practice.

And so Spock endured the ritual without a word of complaint, despite his reservations. More for his mother's benefit than anything else. For her sake, he never shared his doubts about his deserving even this small, personal holiday, and refrained from discussing the altogether absurd nature of the ritual.

It was a small price to pay for her happiness, he decided.

*

*

*

*

On the first birthday after her death, the tell-tale signs of exasperation inflated his chest as he awaited her annual message, waited and waited and _waited_   before it struck him, swift and startling like a crack of thunder, that he would never again hear Mother's voice repeating the familiar well-wishes.

And Vulcans did not celebrate birthdays, so no calls came. Which, ordinarily, would have provided some serenity to Spock - would have meant that he no longer had to linger on this specific day, objectively just like any other day, except for the discord it brought to his mind.

In the absence of her message, Spock tried achieving that sense of peace, but felt only grief in its stead.

*

*

*

*

As first officer, Spock's foremost priority on the Enterprise was ensuring utmost efficiency. In the crew, in the captain, and above all, in himself.

He endeavored to keep himself informed on all fields that fell under his directive, everything from the sciences to mechanics to personnel. It was through his meticulous inspection of records that he discovered the birthday of James T. Kirk, and filed the information in his memory banks, not truly expecting the detail to be crucial in the future.

Then the day in question arrived, and to Spock's surprise, not a whisper of the occasion spread through the decks, the bridge, the recreation rooms. He double-checked to see if he had erred, but no, the date was correct. That date was today, yet nobody seemed to take notice.

From his experience aboard this vessel, humans went out of their way to make a fuss over the most mundane occurrences. Sometimes they didn't even justify random festivities with a reason.

(Dr. McCoy and Engineer Scott were especially known to indulge in scotch, whisky bourbon and some unidentifiable substance called "moonshine" without celebratory provocation; although based on their behavior, Spock pondered if alcohol was a substance casual consumption among some Earth subcultures).

Therefore, the fact that the captain's birthday passed without remark must be significant. Hence why Spock did not mention the date to anyone else, respecting the man's right to privacy.

And _yet..._ Spock remembered his mother's persistent attachment to the aged Earth tradition; and how once, as an insatiably curious child, he had wanted to understand. With the patience of a parent accustomed to such inquiries, she had explained that birthdays were primarily a method of displaying your regard for someone, and to affirm how grateful you were for that someone's presence in your life.

Certainly Captain James T. Kirk, out of the multitude of fascinating creatures inhabiting this galaxy, deserved such recognition. The more time Spock spent under his command, the more apparent Jim's virtues became: he was unflinching against the danger of the unknown, a decisive leader, clever and resourceful in spades. A fierce competitor and a ruthless defender, while also so full of kindness and compassion.

On the Vulcan of his youth, the sun had overlooked the sky like an incandescent guardian, the scorching beams baking dry, burgundy soil. Spock used to shield his eyes from its scrutiny, unable to eclipse the searing brush of heat across his skin. Even the resonant heat of his Father's planet could not compare to the warmth exuded by the captain, the light of his eyes strong enough to penetrate whatever barrier Spock might form to keep the invasive rays at bay.

(Vulcan had no oceans, but becoming too entranced in the captain's cerulean gaze, Spock knew what it was to drown.)

Scientifically speaking, Jim was much like a celestial star, the way he drew people towards him, making them believe they too were at the center of the universe, that they had purpose and importance.

Not to be accused of creating a biased image, Spock tempered these merits with a comparative list of flaws, of which James Kirk had plenty. He was brash, passionate to point where it obscured his judgment; and he cared, perhaps too much, placing too much importance on beings unworthy of his esteem (Spock could personally testify to this, being on the receiving end of such unfathomable faith and trust).

His flaws, moreover, only made him that much more solid, approachable and - well, _human_ (strangely, for Jim, that was a virtue, whereas for Spock it was a reprimand, a crime, an insult).

If there was someone in this large, lonely universe Spock might call a friend, it would be Jim Kirk. Maybe that was why the lack of celebration bothered him to the brink, forced him to act on a bewildering, impractical impulse.

Amanda would be laughing if she could see him now, debating for far too long over what action he should take, if any. The struggle to express himself in a manner which would not be misinterpreted had often eluded Spock. Finally, he choose to adhere to the most basic aspect of the Terran tradition - the bestowing of gifts.

Later, though not late enough to have missed the occasion, Spock strode languidly towards the captain's quarters, biding his time, and battling a sudden burst of nervousness - hoping that, perhaps, the captain would be absent, so he could leave the gift without incident.

Unfortunately, it was Jim's voice that granted him entry when he arrived, unannounced.

"Captain," Spock greeted immediately, for now keeping the gift remained concealed behind his back.

"Spock, it's Jim. We're off-duty." The chide had a familiar note of repetition, yet Spock noted that over time it had grown to contain a fond lilt.

"Jim," he amended. He opened his mouth to elaborate, but the words were unwilling to cooperate. "I have... I am here for... you see, I recently learned-"

Being tongue-tied was not his forte, but Spock was unsure as how to proceed, and the lack of confidence left him off-kilter.

Looking amused, Jim said, "Just spit it out, Spock."

Faltering, Spock's hands unclasped, muscles unwinding as he wrestled with the odd phrase. "You wish for me to...produce saliva?"

Jim snorted, eyes falling to where Spock's arms rested at his sides, narrowing as he noticed the parcel. "What's that?" he demanded.

Snapping to attention, Spock blurted, "A gift," and barely wasting a second to breathe, handed the item to his startled captain, "For you. Sir."

Before Jim could properly respond, he continued, "Today is your birthday. It is the Earth custom to commentate the occasion with presents."

"I am aware of that, yes," Jim stated wryly, his gaze locked on the parcel. "And I - I'm _flattered._ But you really didn't have to..."

"Nevertheless, I did. So to question my actions further would be illogical."

A grin wormed its way onto the captain's face. "In that case, well," Jim relented, carefully delving into the thin layer of wrapping. "Ah, it's - uh, thermal socks?"

He did not seem particularly impressed, and the cold nip of rejection chipped at Spock's composure. "I recall you having mentioned that you required a new pair," he said stiffly, repressing the urge to fidget. "If it is not to your liking, I will take no offense-"

"No, no, it's great," Jim emphasized, smiling brilliantly to convey his sincerity. Spock's heart seized, his shields taking a critical hit. "I appreciate the thought you put into it. That... That means a lot."

 _It's the thought that counts,_ Amanda's voice wafted through his memory like a cloud of magnolia mixed with desert sands, the aroma with what he understood to be nostalgia.

"You are welcome," Spock spoke eventually, reciting the appropriate reply. He excused himself afterwards, his pulse still fluttering against his abdomen. Idly, he wondered if he should go straight to sickbay.

The thought of Dr. McCoy poking at him with his beads and rattles dismissed the notion instantly.

*

*

*

*  
    
Spock spent approximately 7 days, 22 hours and 49 minutes devising the following year's gift. If the thought was indeed what counted, then Spock could do far better than his previous, fumbling attempt.

"If you furrow any harder, your eyebrows will go vertical," Nyota joked from where she lay curled on her bed with a PADD. It was a usual evening spent in each other's company, tending to their own affairs while enjoying the presence of one another. She was catching up on work while Spock focused on meditation - or attempted, anyway, since the quandary of what to purchase the captain currently prevented any mental relaxation.

"I find myself suitably perplexed," he admitted, arms crossed over his chest. A subtle hint of his consternation.

Reading it as easily as she decoded scrambled messages over the comm, Nyota offered, "Maybe I can help?"

"My problems should be burdened onto nobody else," said Spock firmly, before he relented, "...However, your advice would be most valuable."

Nyota tapped her chin, thoughtfully. "I think your heart's in the right place, but your mind's too involved," she said earnestly. "Humans appreciate sentiment over necessity."

"Evidently."

"I know it doesn't make sense," Nyota laughed. "Hey, do you remember when were at that marketplace on Delta Six? When you bought me those earrings all because I said they reminded me of ones my grandmother owned?"

He nodded.

"Did I _require_ them?"

"...No," Spock replied slowly.

Sitting up, Nyota looked him square in the eye, and asked, "Then why did you buy them?"

He searched himself for an adequate answer, not for the first time astounded by her ability to elicit and maintain a clear and fruitful communication across barriers of species, a skill that continuously confounded him.

"Because I knew it would elicit a pleasant response," he replied at last, blinking as the revelation landed. "I knew you would enjoy them."

Nyota flashed him a grin of satisfaction. "Exactly," she commended, patting his cheek. "You are a quick study, Mr. Spock."

"I believe it is you who is the exceptional teacher," stated Spock, and although he'd only voiced an honest fact, it earned him an affectionate kiss on the nose.

He resigned himself to never quite understanding all of the peculiar human mannerisms he encountered.

*

*

*

*

With Uhura's suggestion, Spock selected on an item he concluded would be most satisfactory - the captain was partial to classical music, so surely a compilation disc of such songs would be to his tastes.

The computer informed him that the captain was in Rec Room V,  and that was precisely where Spock located him, sitting with McCoy, back towards the door, bent over a glass of what appeared to be alcoho. Rather than join the pair, however, Spock hesitated.

Eavesdropping was incredibly impolite, yet Spock couldn't help his heightened Vulcan hearing picking up pieces of their conversation.

"Kids are supposed to outlive their parents," McCoy said reasonably. "As a parent, take my word for it - if you manage to get 80 years, you go with the hope they'll be pushing 100."

"Most kids have to wait until they're 80 to outlive their dads," Jim snorted, unusually somber. "Me, I'll have the old man beat in three years..."

"Statistically, yes. But there is room for error."

"Now you're starting to sound like Spock."

"Just 'cause you're in a lousy mood don't mean you gotta get nasty," McCoy grumbled.

Of course, thought Spock, as he hovered uselessly beyond the doorway. Condemning his own ignorance. For had it ever posed any real mystery, _why_   the captain was reluctant to partake in any revel on this day, which marked more than the anniversary of his birth?

Logically, his mother's labor and his father's demise were two wholy unrelated events, but Spock recognized that emotional interference often misconstrued rationality in humanoid beings.

Quietly, his footsteps barely scraping across the floor, Spock retreated before his presence was detected. He did not wish to intrude.

Going straight to the captain's empty quarters, he laid the gift in plain sight, and then fled to his room where he meditated for the rest of the night.

At Alpha shirt the next morning, he made no mention of this exchange. Nor did the captain.

But his Vulcan ears did catch Jim incessantly humming a familiar, classic song, until finally Lt. Sulu swiveled around and, dryly, requested some variety.

And if Jim threw a (not-so)clandestine glance of affection in his first officer's direction, Spock was much too immersed in work to notice.

*

*

*

*

The sun, like any star, was beautiful from afar. Gravity pulled you, and everything else in its path, towards the welcoming bask of its brilliance. 

But Spock understood the downside to this attraction - if you drew too close, you were bound to be drawn into the orbit, unable to escape; and ultimately, you sink into the boiling, blistering surface, and become part of its mass. You cease to exist as a separate body.

(Fortunately, Spock has never been all too attached to his existence anyway).

*

*

*

*  
   
Three years into their mission, and chess had long since become a regular occurrence between captain and first officer.

During one such evening, Jim sat across from him, idly scratching the underside of his chin - which, according to Spock's estimation, had gone for two days without a shave and would soon be due. 

Jim neglecting his hygiene was a sign of preoccupation, and Spock pondered if the upcoming conference at Xcicalta VII was was to blame for tonight's pensiveness when the captain, apropos to nothing, posed the question: "How come we never celebrate your birthday?"

Spock paused, his hand hovering over an obsidian knight. "Vulcan do not observe such customs," he stated mildly.

"Of course." Spock got the distinct impression that Jim was humoring him, and soon received confirmation. "But you _are_ half-human. Surely your mom must have taught you... I mean, I figured that was how you knew about the gift-giving."

"Indeed," Spock murmured, moving his knight a few places. Belatedly, he realized he'd left himself open for attack, which his opponent would indubitably exploit. "However, there is little point in observing the occasion after her passing."

"Except you still observe Hanukkah, don't you?" Jim reminded, ever the perceptive player. What game they were currently engaged in besides chess, though, Spock had no idea.

"...That is different."

"Oh? In what way?"

Staring at the chessboard, options were considered. By Spock's calculations, checkmate was imminent; he was trapped, in every sense of the term. 

"By paying respect to Jewish tradition I am honoring my mother's heritage," he replied carefully. "A birthday carries no such connotations."

Surveying the board as he contemplated his next move, Jim steepled his fingers in his lap. "I always considered birthdays quite fascinating," he admitted, prompting a curious blink from Spock. "It's a tradition that over time has transcended race, religion, ethnicity - not everyone celebrates it, but anyone can."

"And you count yourself among the former category?" Jim's lips crooked lopsidedly at the deflection, which was - an unfair advantage, Spock concluded.

"I have my reasons," Jim evaded, shifting in his seat. He leant back, chin tipped forward so that his smirk, in all its glory, remained on full display. "But I'm not averse to receiving gifts. Definitely unopposed to giving a few myself."

Had he any less shame, Spock suspected the sentence would have been punctuated by a wink. Had Spock any less self-control, he might have been previous to such blatant needling.

Even so, Jim's tactics garnered an unprecedented rate of success; nevertheless, this time, Spock refused to be swayed. "I am Vulcan," he recited primly. "To participate in the ritual for a human's sake is sensible. However, for you to reciprocate would be nonessential."

"Well, I disagree."

Yet he offered no argument for this claim; Spock's brow shot up, unaccustomed to being treated so contrarily (by someone other than Dr. McCoy).

"That is your prerogative," he allowed, adding a dull, "Sir."

In a matter of three turns, the game was over, and Spock accepted his defeat with grace. He hoped that Jim would follow his example and do the same.

*

*

*

*

A disastrous encounter with the Gorn coincided with the occasion this year, so Spock had to distribute his gift while the captain was still interred in sickbay. (With their combined track records, it was a wonder this hadn't happened before.) He supposed the novel would, at the very least, provide a fortuitous distraction.

 _"A Tale of Two Cities."_ Jim's gaze roamed over the cover before flicking towards Spock. "Favorite of yours?"

"A most interesting story," Spock noted without inflection. "I recommend it as a worthwhile example of Terran literature."

"I'm touched," chuckled Jim, the sound evoking a rise of warmth in Spock's chest. "What makes you think it's my cup of tea?"

"You do have a preference for old Earth relics," Spock acknowledged. Then, a hint of shyness coloring his tone: "...And a mutual acquaintance recommended that you might enjoy this specific title."

The corner of Jim's mouth twitched upwards; there was no mistaking which mutual acquaintance he was referring to.

"Why, Mr. Spock, what a heartwarming expression of your true... _sentiments,"_   he teased. "I think serving on a starship so long has really put you in touch with your human side."

Straightening, Spock huffed, "Captain, I see no courtesy in someone who has just bestowed you a favor."

"My apologies," Jim intoned, bowed in mock-shame. Resisting an eye roll, Spock turned on his heel, effectively ending the conversation.

"Don't worry," Jim called after him, and Spock heard more than saw the smirk dazzling his face. "Your secret's safe with me."

*

*

*

*

Ironically, Spock had the word to describe Jim before he even understood the extent of his feelings. Every Vulcan learned the significance of _t'hy'la,_ although only some would ever experience the depth of a soul-bond. 

Never had it occurred to Spock that he might be among those who did.

*

*

*

*

They were torn apart before he had the chance to leave.

Departing from Starfleet - from the Enterprise, from his friends, from _Jim_ \- brought along of . No stranger to the sensation of his self being divided, Spock sought balance through meditation, but as predicted, the decision was inevitable.  

Spock Prime's passing merely cemented a reality that he had been willing to overlook for the past five years: Spock was a member of an endangered species, and the implications of that could no longer be ignored. After everything his mentor had done to restore Vulcan, it seemed remiss of Spock to go on as if his people were not struggling to ensure their species endured.

Making this decision was monumentally difficult, but to actually inform Jim of what he planned to do, to disappoint the sole person whose disapproval he could not bear-

Cowardice was not programmed into his hardwiring. There was never going to be an opportune moment to announce his resignation, and therefore, delaying the news was ridiculous. Even knowing this, and after being presented with the chance, Spock demurred.

Fate punished this indecision dearly. Before he could rectify his error, the USS Enterprise crashed in a blaze of smoke and shrapnel, its crew scattered, captured or lost.

Somehow the notion of Jim being among the casualties didn't even occur. Spock would have fathomed it _,_ would have felt the loss as keenly as the termination of his own heartbeat. Which appeared to be a increasingly probable outcome, in spite of Leonard's shaky encouragements. 

At the doctor's prodding, Spock stumbled aimlessly in search of the crew, exerting futile effort. Above, the sky swam in and out of focus, but through the haze, Spock swore he could almost hear the buzz of Jim's distant thoughts brushing against his own-

Frankly, he hadn't expected to survive the physical trauma, rescued by Mr. Scott's timely transport. Nor was he expecting to be caught by Jim right as his legs gave out, his gratitude expressed in pure fatigue. 

His body went limp as Leonard's voice spat out demands, and soon Spock was lying on a couch, the movements too fast for him to follow. Faces stared down at him, pinched with alarm, and beyond the agony lacing through his abdomen he heard Jim's worn voice, asking Spock what they should do, what could they do?

If he didn't fear what effect it would have on Leonard's blood pressure, Spock might have laughed again.

Robbed of his discipline, his ability to assure through fact and deduction, Spock offered hope - for hope was what Jim had often given him, and how, why should Jim doubt the impossible? Jim Kirk  _was_ the impossible, a enigma wrapped in an open book, a combination of strength and kindness that inspired faith in the foresaken, made failures believe in redemption.

And now, now someone as wonderful as Jim was looking at Spock like _he_   was something precious, too precious to lose. With his defenses weak, and his mind a mess, Spock surrendered to gravity's tug, let himself be dragged into the embrace of the sun.

*

*

*

*

Fear of death is illogical, Spock knew. Death was an inevitable, unavoidable fate.

But fear of love? Love could not be quantified, predicted, or assured. Fear of love was fear of the unknown.

Fear of love was the fear of hope.

*

*

*

*

Aside from a bit of unavoidable collateral damage (some courtesy of Leonard's poor parking skills), Yorktown would sleep soundly tonight, the base's near destruction evoking a mass of weariness in the residents. In the lull that ensued after harrowing confrontation with Krall, the crew of the Enterprise were not immune to this effect, and were all on orders to recuperate.

Once he'd finished properly treating the wound, insisting on handling it himself, Leonard shooed Spock from his sight with a strict prescription of bed-rest, otherwise he would personally "tan his hide." More perplexed than intimidated by the threat, Spock was content to obey the doctor's instructions. He drowsed in a soothing trance, the meditation smoothing the rough edges from his consciousness. But he couldn't shake a persistent interference that ultimately disrupted his tranquility. As he steadily became aware, he discerned that he wasn't alone.

Blearily, Spock called, "Jim?"

A beat, followed by, _"Shit."_

Spock arched a brow at the expletive.

Contritely, Jim whispered, "I didn't meant to disturb you."

The body next to him shuffled, about to withdraw. In horror, Spock reached blindly, clamping down on a retreating wrist.

"Unnecessary," he rasped, quickly retracting his hand. Thankfully, the shadows obscured his embarrassment. "Your company is welcome."

Nodding, Jim reclaimed his seat, dropping with an exhausted huff of air. "In any case, you did not wake me," assured Spock.

Reading between the lines, Jim snorted, "Yeah. I couldn't sleep, either... Figured checking up on you might ease my mind."

"Your concern is appreciated, though unwarranted," insisted Spock, and, as if to prove his fitness, struggled into a sitting position. The wince he was unable to repress sabotaged this goal. "Dr. McCoy's medical expertise, though questionable at times, has proven to be trustworthy."

"Spock, you were practically skewered by a hunk of shrapnel. You collapsed from internal bleeding!" Jim's voice rang utterly exasperated. "I think that warrants a bit of concern."

Blandly, Spock remarked, "We have found ourselves in many similar situations over the years."

Sarcasm and sternness warred for dominance over Jim's face, until a smile slipped through the seams. "Guess I can't argue that," sighed Jim, unmistakably fond. "Such is the life of a stalwart captain and his faithful first officer, eh?"

"An inescapable risk of our profession, it would seem." Mirthfully, Jim shook his head, eyes blank as though in a reverie, recalling the perilous adventures they had shared.

Memory chose then to strike Spock, too. "I apologize," he spoke abruptly. "...In the recent pandemonium, I forgot to purchase your customary gift."

Jim pursed his lips, looking oddly strained. Tardily, Spock realized it was from trying to contain his amusement. A task too monumental to achieve, apparently, that backfired with bark of laughter. "Jesus, Spock, that doesn't - none of that matters," Jim choked out, calming at Spock's rigid reception. "To be honest... You staying on the Enterprise is gift enough."

The comment wasn't accusatory, yet it still left Spock gob-smacked. Clinging to his control, he managed a thin, "Pardon?"

"Bones might've gotten tipsy enough to let the cat out of the bag," Jim explained, ruefully. "That's what you wanted to say in the turbolift before Krall attacked, wasn't it?"

Generally, Vulcans did not lie, yet Spock had already disobeyed that principle. And with the truth already laid out, Spock saw no reason to confirm. He said only, "Forgive me."

 _"Hey._ Don't go all guilt-ridden on me, mister," Jim griped. As swiftly as it'd arrived, the captain persona deserted him, "Uh, besides. As upset as I was to hear it, it's a bit hypocritical of me...since I applied for a vice admiral position."

"You planned to abandon the captaincy?" exclaimed Spock, expelling a genuine burst of shock. 

Jim's brows jumped into his hairline. "I've never heard someone describe a promotion with such vehemence."

Flushing, Spock took care to compose himself before elaborating. "I simply find it a shame," he said evenly. "Captaining a starship is your first and best destiny. I assumed that was apparent to everyone, including yourself."

"Well lucky for me, if I lapse again, I'll have you to remind me," said Jim wryly.

"Of course," Spock replied. "My duty as first officer is a fulfilling, though ceaseless, responsibility."

The playfulness rapidly dissipated, the lines around Jim's eyes tightening. Suddenly, he was angling towards Spock, invading the Vulcan's personal zone. "Is that why you decided to stay?" Jim inquired, deceptively mild. "Your obligation to me?"

Obligation was a cruel understatement for the devotion that burned through Spock's blood, drew him to Jim like a _leh-mahtya_   to the scent of blood. It was nature, it was instinct, and something altogether too profound for Spock to string into words.

"Spock," Jim exhaled as his hand lurched, grasping his first officer's. Spock stifled a gasp. Did Jim know what such an innocent Earth gesture meant to a Vulcan? Or was it another facet of their relationship lost in translation?

"I won't deny how much I need you. Hell, I can't," Jim muttered, his tone subdued. "But I would rather you leave of your own accord than stay because you think you have to."

His voice was inflexible, brooking no room for dissent. Spock searched futilely for the words to assure that it _wasn't_   duty, no. Not duty to Starfleet, anyway, or to Vulcan. His decision to stay was based on merely the most selfish of duties, those owed to his home - the Enterprise - and to his heart -

_Jim._

"And it's not just that I need you," Jim ground out, with a frustration that silenced any response. "I _want_   you with me. At my side."

That was unequivocally where Spock belonged - a fact he understood while protruding from the open hatch of the pod, catching Jim before he was stolen by the gaping vacuum of space, gripping him for all he was worth. But Spock wasn't so blind to miss the underlying question Jim was imploring him to answer. It... It simply baffled him. Because Jim needing his input, his intellect aboard the Enterprise came as no surprise; after all, Spock's presence was needed in a multitude of places.

To be _wanted_ , though...to be wanted was a far more foreign concept.

 _The answer_ , Spock's brain urged him to reply. With a tenderness so often concealed, Spock professed, "Capt- _Jim_. You must understand. There is no place I would rather be."

Hardly as romantic a demonstration as Jim had given, lacking so much of the passion and emotion that he deserved. Despite this, Jim beamed like he had when Spock had handed him a pair of thermal socks, like Spock was a miracle he couldn't quite believe. "Good," he said, bright and breezy. "Because I didn't plan on leaving tonight." Eyes glimmering with a mischief Spock had learned to mistrust, Jim patted his leg. "Budge up."

Bemused, and still fairly awed by their confessions, Spock obliged by scooting over. Jim clambered onto the single bed. He ended up half on top of Spock, mumbling apologies as he fumbled to fit in the cramped space provided, Spock complying by curling his lanky limbs into a more compact position.

"Comfortable?" Jim quipped at last, too loud for how close his lips were to a sensitive Vulcan ear.

Spock wriggled, assessing. "Negative," he responded flatly.

Jim chuckled. "Me, either," he agreed, yet neither was willing to forfeit their closeness for comfort.

Uncertainly, Spock lifted his head and laid it on a firm shoulder. When that was well-received, he risked a more intimate touch, running his fingertips over the bruises marring Jim's face. Jim, who delighted in the contact, nuzzled his cheek into Spock's palm, sending a current of love flowing between the pair.

"You know, I never did return the favor," he murmured, mostly into Spock's hair. "So I've got a lot of birthdays to catch up on."

Curiosity piqued Spock, yet before he could ask, Jim connected their lips in kiss. Soft, tantalizing sensation sizzled between the contact. The dichotomy of _slow, sweet_ and _hot, not nearly enough_ was more dizzying than the blood loss. They parted with one of them smirking, the other blinking. "Is that my gift?" Spock wondered.

"That? No," Jim promised. "But it's a start."

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
